


Jolly, Holly Christmas

by xerxesun



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, One Direction (Band), zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: Alternative Universe - Christmas fluff, Artist Zayn Malik, Christmas, Christmas AU, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Domestic Fluff, Endgame Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, Ex Boyfriend, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Harry Styles & Taylor Swift Friendship, Haylor friendship, Lawyer Harry Styles, M/M, Mentions of Taylor Swift, Not Canon Compliant, Past Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, Taylor and Zayn are friends, christmas reunion, domestic AU, taylor swift's cats, they are cat people, zaylor for the win, zayn and harry are exes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerxesun/pseuds/xerxesun
Summary: Christmas day isn't really special when you are supposed to stay home alone, binge-watching old Christmas rom coms. That's why Harry feels he has no choice but to agree when Taylor calls him and asks him to babysit her cats while she goes to a Christmas party with her boyfriend.It's better than being alone, after all.That is until a certain someone shows up at Taylor's house. A certain someone hasn't been in his life for almost seven years now.That is exactly the moment when he decides the cosmetics absolutely despise him.
Relationships: Joe Alwyn/Taylor Swift, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37
Collections: zarry fics





	Jolly, Holly Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Before starting this story I wanna share a few exclusive stuff with you because it's Christmas and what is a Christmas story if it doesn't have some cool attachments to it? I will keep this short and efficient so don't skip it, it'll be fun?
> 
> Firstly, please don't steal anything from the story and don't publish the story anywhere else. It's already published on Wattpad and AO3 and I'm willing to keep it on these two platforms only.
> 
> Secondly and lastly, I haven't written any specific smut or sexual scenes through the story except a little thingy in the end of it, that's why I didn't put it under mature. Read that one with care if it triggers you.
> 
> Now, let's dive right into the story!

**"Christmas magic is silent; you don't hear it—you feel it, you know it, you believe in it."  
**— _Kevin Alan Milne_

———

There's no way someone can despise Christmas, right? After all, who doesn't like candy, big meals and celebrations? Who in their right mind dislikes the family gatherings and the excitement that comes with the spirit of Christmas?

Well, Harry does.

Since he is a miserable loner who, at the age of twenty-nine, still celebrates Christmas with his mother. But this year his mother has _plans_ with her friends for a lovely Christmas party.

He called her a few days ago, wanting to know when to drop by so he could know when he could come squeeze himself in his old bed and be miserable there. She, though, had replied with, "Harry, sweetheart, one of my friends has invited me over. Of course, I will stay home if you want me to."

"Oh, no, mum," he had forced a chuckle out. "I just called to ask you whether I could cancel because Mitch, Sarah and I have planned to hit a bar to celebrate." Which was a lie. He has no plans. Mitch and Sarah are going to Sarah's parents for Christmas and then they'll fly to Mitch's parents to stay for the holidays.

Which leaves Harry all fucking alone.

He had so visibly heard Anne release a sigh out of relief (which quite frankly hurt Harry), "Oh, honey, please enjoy your time. I'm so glad to hear it."

"So yeah, mum, have fun celebrating with your friends," He had forced the words out and the conversation had mindlessly carried on. But Harry had zoned out of it.

He was so forcefully thinking about how to spend his Christmas.

Since then—almost three days ago—he has so obsessively tried not to be a miserable twat. And he is failing miserably.

So in his second attempt to spend the day with his family (or more specifically _not alone_ ), he decides to swallow his pride and call Gemma; his insufferable older sister who is always so determined to show him how much of a failure he is.

One would ask why not spend the time with his friends?

Harry tells that _one_ (who is very welcome to go fuck themselves because why is it any of their business how Harry spends his Christmas?) that he does not have any friends available around that time of the year.

Is he a wallflower? No, in fact, he's more of a social butterfly. But all his friends have _someone_ to spend their Christmas with be it their extended family or their partners. The only one out of his large circle of friends who is doomed to be alone is Harry.

So as the last attempt, he calls Gemma, ready to be bombarded with insults and ambushes but still, he is willing to take a thousand insults instead of staying alone. So he unlocks his phone, opens his contacts and lingers his fingers on her name before finally releasing a sigh and pressing _Call_.

"Hello?" Gemma's voice fills his ears only after three rings and he is so ready to hang up the phone already. Yet, he gathers all his courage and forces himself not to. _You don't want to stay Christmas alone, do you?_ He asks himself and he knows the answer.

No.

"Gem?" he tries to put on a cheerful smile even though Gemma can't see him from behind the phone. "Hey," he says a bit too cheerfully. "How are you, big sister?"

And there—he has screwed up. He can even _smell_ the air filling up with suspicion.

"Harry, what's going on?" Gemma doesn't waste a second calling him out on his bad _acting_. He curses under his breath, smacking himself on the head before trying to come up with something. "Haz?"

"Bloody hell, okay," Harry says frustratingly. His mind tries to come up with an excuse but Gemma's constant sighing and growling and groaning pisses him off so he just blurts the truth out. "Can I come over for Christmas?" He asks hurriedly and regrets the words leaving his mouth instantly.

"What?!" she's quick to react. "Don't you always spend Christmas with mum?"

Harry wishes he could disappear at once. It was a very stupid choice he made. He shouldn't have called Gemma. "She has plans with her friends," he simply says and feels like he's a ten-year-old kid, not a thirty-one-year-old man.

"And? Didn't you tell her you had nowhere else to be?"

That's the thing about Gemma. She is not hesitant to speak her mind and even though it's a good trait seventy percent of the time, it _sucks_ when it comes to Harry.

 _Well, that's awfully cruel when you put it that way,_ he's tempted to say but he swallows his pride and tries to explain it in the least embarrassing way ever. "I didn't want to spoil the fun for her, she deserves a little alone time to go around and spend time with her friends... so... I kind of told her that, um, I have plans with Mitch and Sarah..."

"But you don't have plans with Mitch and Sarah," Gemma acknowledges and Harry is well tempted to hang up. He knows she isn't saying to be mean but he can't help but be stung with her words.

"No," he forces the words out. "I don't have any plans with anyone. That's why I'm calling you—I was wondering if I could spend a day with my beloved _sister_. Unless you despise me so much that I am not welcome there," he snaps at Gemma and regrets it immediately but it is what it is and the words have already left his mouth so he waits for his response.

"Sorry, Harold," Gemma says as if finally aware of the impact she's having on Harry's feelings. "Didn't mean to give off _that_ vibe."

"I know," he says quietly. "Well, can I?"

She sighs on the other side of the line and Harry _begs_ her and the universe inwardly to say yes. But he realizes that the world hates him as the words leave Gemma's mouth. "I would love to have you over but Micheal and I have already made plans to go to Micheal's parents and I can't really—"

"Cancel," Harry completes her sentence and lets out a sigh.

"Haz, I'm sorry you should've told me sooner..."

"Yeah," Harry dismisses. "It's okay." It really isn't but he's not going to let his sister know. "Have fun."

"Harry..."

"No, I mean it, Gem," Harry tries not to show how embarrassed he feels. "You're right, I should've called sooner. Well, I'll see you later then." He is fighting so hard not to be bitter and snap at Gemma. It's not her fault that he doesn't have a useful friend for the life of him.

"Yeah, Harold, you will," she says and he can picture her smiling.

"Okay, Gem, well, I got to go, have fun, hm?" He says hastily and he doesn't even wait for a response before hanging up and pressing the phone to his chest.

Well, that wasn't what he expected. Or wanted.

"For fuck's sake," he curses under his breath and rolls his eyes before throwing himself on the couch, in front of the tv which is staring at him gloomily. "What? Don't give me that judgemental look, you bastard," he warns the silent television before smacking himself on the head. "That's it, I've gone mental!" he declares and leans his head backwards.

"This is officially the saddest 22nd December I've ever had," he tells no one but himself before sighing.

He isn't sure how long he has spent pitying himself on the couch before his phone rings and throws him off, resulting in him jumping six meters into the sky. Taking his phone out, his eyes widen with surprise as he sees the name; _Taylor Swift._

Okay, _that_ is unexpected.

"Hello?" he answers sceptically, ready to be disappointed by _Oh, hey Harry. Sorry the wrong number, I wanted to call Harriet._ But instead, he hears Taylor shrieking with excitement on the other side and saying something in a muffled voice before returning to him.

"Harry, oh god, I was worried you wouldn't answer," she says with her thick American accent which makes Harry crack a grin. It has been a while since they last saw each other. Or even talked, for that matter. "How are you? long time, no see!"

"I've been well, Tay. How are _you_?" he asks and eases into the conversation. He and Taylor might not talk frequently, but when they do, they know how to make it feel like time hasn't passed at all.

"Well, I'm fine, baby boy," Taylor says and her voice interrupts the dangerous turn Harry's thoughts are taking. He is grateful.

"When are you going to stop with the _baby boy_ , it's not like I am ten years younger than you," Harry whines playfully.

"Oh, hush," Taylor hisses and then bursts into laughter. "Four years is long enough." They both take a moment laughing before a muffled voice—a very male muffled voice—tells something to Taylor and she says, "Oh, yeah right," to the person before tuning into conversation with Harry again. "Okay, so pretty boy, I want to ask you for something. I understand if you say no because you already have plans and stuff but..."

"Go on already Taylor," Harry teases and waits for her to go on.

"So, you know I moved back to America and all that, right?" Taylor asks and Harry makes a hmm as confirmation. "Anyway, long story short, I met this guy there who happened to be English, based in Manchester and we kinda moved back here!"

It takes Harry a moment before he realizes what she has said. "Oh my God, does that mean you're living in the UK? How long ago?"

"A month I guess, roughly," Taylor giggles. "So, yeah I live around—in Manchester."

"That's amazing news, Tay. We should meet up someday, yeah?" Harry says. He means it, it's good news but he's confused at the same time as well. Why would Taylor call him to tell him that she's in the UK after a month?

"Thanks, um, Harry, so... I don't know how it will sound but you were the only person I actually knew and had their contact info from college and um, I was just wondering if I could ask you a favor and as I said I totally understand it—"

"Darling, go on," Harry interrupts her. Of course, she wants a favour. Who would call good old Harry for something other than a favour? He knows it's not true but he's so lonely and bitter to think otherwise.

Maybe doing a favour is just what he needs. After all, he _is_ jobless for the holidays.

"So I have three cats, which I brought from the States, Meredith, Benjamin and Olivia. They can't stay alone at home, you see and I and Joe are invited to his parent's who live in Royal Tunbridge Wells and um, we have to go there for like the holidays and he called anyone he knew and they were busy and all and the only person I know here is you and I was wondering if... um, you could take care of them?"

"Do you want me to babysit your cats? You'll drop them at my place on your way, then?" Harry asks, a bit taken aback. Well, he did _not_ expect that. Not after almost three months since they last talked anyways.

But he _is_ free and it's better to spend Christmas with three cats rather than all alone. He'll probably accept to babysit them even though he has no idea how to do it.

"Well, the thing is, they usually don't feel well when their place is changed often and since I _just_ moved in and they're getting used to the place, it'll be a struggle to get them to London and I was wondering..."

"If I could come to your place?" Harry completes the sentence.

"I understand if you say no, it was a dick move to call you and ask you for a favor after so long but I—"

"Okay, Taylor," Harry interrupts her and surprises both of them. He is determined to do it. "Of course, but only if you have food for me there."

"Oh my God," she exclaims. "Of course, I do, oh my God, Harry you are the best!"

"Damn right I am," he says cheekily, finally relieved that he has something to do for the holidays. _Wait until Gemma hears about this,_ he thinks. _I'm not gonna be alone for Christmas, take that!_

———

Harry is cuddling on the big sofa, Benjamin giving him a judgemental look. He arrived at Taylor's three hours earlier but he's still feeling the chill in his bones. It has snowed like it hasn't in the last twenty years.

Taylor gave him a look (after he arrived two hours later than planned because of the shit amount of snow), a kiss on the cheek, a quick introduction to her boyfriend, the keys to the house, instructions and another kiss on the cheek before taking off with Joe and telling him that she'd be back after the holidays.

So that meant he'd a few days alone at her house with delicious food, three cats and an enjoyable warm home with endless blankets to cuddle with.

Who is he to protest and not enjoy the privileges his old pal has given him? Even if it is for a few days.

"Don't give me that look, Benji, I'm just doing what your mama told me to do. I'm enjoying myself," he says at the hissing cat as he sips from a very expensive glass filled with expensive white wine.

Benjamin jumps up at him unexpectedly, making Harry jump up a foot and finally realize that Benjamin isn't a fan of his gut. The angry cat turns around and walks towards his comfortable bed as he purrs. "Well, that was not civil," Harry growls under his breath.

Harry finishes off his wine, placing the glass on the tea table next to the sofa he has occupied and pulls his feet up under him to cover them with the blanket. That's the best thing about Christmas Holidays; the wood burning in the fireplace, the weather a bit chilly and cuddling under the blankets.

Yes, it would be better if he had a partner but being alone does it for him as well.

As if Olivia can read his thoughts, she jumps up, inviting Meredith over with a little meow but she ignores her little sister as she goes towards her bed and cuddles alone. Olivia, though, doesn't give up her place next to Harry and demands to be cuddled.

Harry lets out a laugh. Well, Meredith and Benjamin have yet to warm up to him but Olivia certainly feels comfortable with him. She presses her head to Harry's chest and he moves a bit, letting Olivia in the safe embrace of his arms and the cat purrs as Harry runs his long fingers along with her soft hair.

This is so good, he knows. Taylor's house is much friendlier than his gloomy apartment in London and the cats make the place even more heart-warming. Even though it hasn't been longer than four hours since he let himself in, he's already accustomed to the welcoming atmosphere of the cottage despite Benjamin disliking him.

So all things considered, he feels his eyelids drooping, his mind slowly wandering to the world of dreams, willing to sleep off the exhaustion of a long year. The sound of Olivia's breathing only makes it feel like a secret lullaby and Harry feels like he's going to have the best night's sleep he's had in ages.

That is, until a knock on the door pulling him out of his blissful dreams and he jumps up in surprise, making Olivia hiss with anger, her claws pulling on his arms as she swiftly lands on the floor and gives Harry an angry hiss. "Oh, fuck," he curses, looking at the scratch on his arm. "Oh, sorry, love," he says to the angry Olivia and bends down to rub her back before glancing at the door. "Did you hear that as well or did I—"

Before he can complete his sentence, there's another knock on the door. Nope, he hasn't gone bat shit crazy just yet. He looks at the clock; it's a bit after ten o'clock. "Who is it, Liv?" he asks the cat who is staring at him with his glassy eyes. "Is it mama?"

Olivia stares at him with no words. Of course, she does. What did he expect? For her to fucking talk to him? He rolls his eyes as he stands up and fixes his shirt and PJs. Is Taylor already back? Well, he'll make it clear that he can't go back to London just now, he might as well stay for the night.

His train of thoughts is interrupted when he finally reaches the door and looks through the hole to finally see who is behind the door. The lighting isn't perfect so he's as well forced to open the door.

"Taylor, I swear to God—" the man on the front porch starts but his breath is knocked out as he lays eyes on Harry. The green-eyed man isn't doing much better as his mouth swings open in surprise.

Seven years.

It's been seven years since he last saw the person in front of him. Seven years since the man in front of him _broke his heart_.

"Zayn..." he breathes the words out as none of them seems to be able to form a coherent sentence, just staring at each other.

His ex is there, in flesh, after seven years; Zayn fucking Malik.

———

"Have a holly, jolly Christmas," Harry is singing under his breath in the morning as he makes his way to the kitchen, willing to believe that last night was nothing but a nightmare. "It's the best time of the year..."

"You still sing beautifully," a male voice says and Harry jumps up, placing his hand on his racing heart. And there he is, Zayn Malik again, standing in the doorway with his messy raven hair and sleepy, beautiful hazel eyes.

Last night was very much real, Harry concludes before releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me," Harry hisses, leaning back on the counter.

"Sorry," Zayn says, trying to suppress a yawn as he runs his hands through his messy hair, making it even messier than before. How in God's name he is still _glorious_ even after seven years; even at thirty.

Last night was pretty much chaotic. They both said nothing for almost a quarter of an hour, simply staring at each other in surprise until it got too chilly for Harry to stand there in his thin PJs and sweater and he was forced to make inaudible sounds to show Zayn he was welcomed to come in. (Which he really wasn't. He could fuck off for all Harry cared.)

Then, Zayn called Taylor, hissing and asking for explanations. Apparently, after they left for America seven years ago, they had remained best friends and Zayn was supposed to visit them for the Holidays which of course, Taylor had forgotten.

After half an hour of bantering with Taylor, Zayn had passed the phone to Harry who was faced with a very apologetic Taylor. "Do you want us to come back? I will if it's too awkward for you to stay there for the next couple of days..." She had assured him.

But he _wasn't_ going to stay there with his fucking ex-boyfriend for the next couple of days. Mind you, the _ex-boyfriend_ he used to be very much in love with. "Um, Tay, since _he_ ,"—he refused to say his name—"is here, I think he can take care of the cats, yeah?" He'd rather spend Christmas alone than with his fucking ex, than you so bloody much. "So I think I'll just go back home tomorrow morning..."

Taylor had tried to plead with him, tell him that he was welcomed to stay but he hadn't budged. Exes were a no-entry zone for him, there were no exceptions. Not even Zayn I-am-the-most-beautiful-person-on-earth Malik.

So the plan is: eat breakfast, change and get the fuck out of there. Staring at Zayn is definitely not a part of his plan. Still, here he is, his eyes fixed on Zayn as he looks through the cupboards, searching for something he doesn't seem to be able to locate.

"Um, do you know where the cups are?" Zayn finally turns to Harry to ask for assistance, catching him red-handed, staring at him. His lips tremble with mischief, showing that he's most probably going to give him a smirk.

Harry glares at him before his can and slightly moves his arse to reveal a shelf hidden behind his tall legs and point at it. "Here," he simply says, walking to the coffee-maker to treat himself to a cup of coffee.

"Right," Zayn mutters under his breath, walking towards the shelf, unlike the other parts of the house, the kitchen is quite tiny, so their sides touch ever so slightly as they pass each other. Harry can feel his heart skip a beat as the warmth of Zayn's body radiates on his skin.

 _Idiot,_ he mentally snaps at himself but he maintains his composure as he fills his mug with dark coffee and tries to calm his nerves. Another half an hour and then he'll be out of there, hopefully never to see Zayn again.

The perspective of having a lonesome Christmas isn't appealing but the prospect of having a Christmas with _him_ is even worse.

He would very much like it if they could spend their time in peace without uttering a word so he wouldn't be forced into maintaining a civil conversation with him. Especially after the last conversation they shared. But Zayn has another plan as he breaks the silence. "So, long time no see, huh?"

Harry stares at him with a death glare in his eyes as if he is challenging him to repeat his sentence but the look in Zayn's eyes is so soft for him to remain angry so he shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."

"Last night was too chaotic for me to ask," Zayn goes on, with no intentions of shutting up. "What have you been up to? It's been almost..."

"Seven years," Harry deadpans, interrupting his little speech. "Well, you know, _life_."

Zayn sighs as if he is carrying the weight of the world. _Well, good,_ Harry thinks evilly. "How are you?" Zayn says softly as if Harry is fragile—as if he is going to fucking _break_.

So he scolds, rolling his eyes as he puts his mug down. Nope, he does _not_ have it in himself to put up with his let-us-catch-up-like-old-friends bullshit. He hasn't spent _seven fucking years_ trying to remove him from his memories for him to jeopardize all that struggle. "Well, I am _fine_. Thanks for asking. Better late than never, I suppose."

Zayn's demeanour changes, a flash of hurt in his eyes. Harry doesn't give two flying fucks. He should've asked this question seven years ago. It's too late now. "Harry—" he starts after a too-long pause but Harry has already finished his coffee and is ready to get the hell out of there.

"It was nice seeing you after so long," Harry says, fooling no one. They both know that it was _not_ nice seeing him after so long; in fact, it's _far_ from nice. "I'm afraid I should be on my way back to London. You can call Taylor to ask for instructions, yeah? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

Of course, he is lying through his teeth but it's a white lie so he doesn't spend time beating up himself about it. After all, it's not his fault that he feels this way. It's very well the fault of the man in front of him—the only partner that had ever dared to break his heart.

"Well, it was good seeing you, too," Zayn calls after him as Harry rushes out of the kitchen and pretends that he hasn't heard him. He doesn't even waste time changing his clothing. He just pulls on his trousers over his PJs, flinging his coat over his shoulders, grabbing his small suitcase. 

Rushing towards the door, he's well aware he looks like a proper jerk as well as a twat but he certainly doesn't care at that precise moment in time. He just wants to get out of there.

Olivia rubs her head to his ankle as he hesitates to grab his jacket. Kneeling, he rubs her back, muttering a short apology for his abrupt leave. That time is enough for Zayn to appear in the hallway and he growls under his breath. "Well, I'm off."

"Okay," he acknowledges, nodding his head. Since there is nothing more to say, Harry gives Olivia one last pat on the head and opens the door.

And that's when reality crashes in. He had been too busy obsessing over the small real-life drama that he had failed to glance outside. It had snowed _all night long_ and he doubted he could even make it to his car let alone drive all this way back to London. "Fuck..." the word leaves his mouth as it swings open.

_I'm so fucked._

He hears Zayn's small laugh and he turns to look at him, giving him an evil eye which makes him gulp but still a shadow of a grin is on his full lips. He is _beautiful_ but Harry is too angry to acknowledge that. "You knew," he hisses.

"Well, if you are asking unlike you, I check the news every morning, I'd say, yes," Zayn says with a smug face which makes Harry want to connect his knuckles to his face.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he narrows his eyes to a slit.

"You didn't ask?" Zayn says mischievously and Harry realizes he hasn't changed one fucking bit. He still hates him with every bone in his body. Harry sighs, turning to look at his car longingly. If only he could get out of there... "Now, you do realize you can't drive in this snow, right?"

"Of course I do, I'm not a fucking oaf for God's sake!" Harry snaps at him, closing the door because the chilly air is entering the warm house. Olivia shudders next to him so he bends down, putting the suitcase on the floor and picks up the cat.

His hands are a bit cold which makes Olivia hiss but soon after, she is cosying up to his embrace. Harry runs his fingers along with her soft fur absentmindedly, trying to come up with a solution but every path is just a fucking dead end.

He is stuck with his ex until the sun comes out and makes a way for him to get the fuck out of there.

And he curses Taylor for the hundredth time for buying a fucking cottage in the suburbs of the city where there isn't a single person in sight.

"Now, fancy a cup of hot chocolate? I just made it," Zayn offers and Harry rolls his eyes.

———

It's the most awkward day he has ever spent. They sit awkwardly for almost an hour when Zayn announces that he is going to take a shower and leaves Harry to play around with the cats. It's still ten in the morning so he is in no rush to get to dinner and he allows himself to do what he's there to do—to babysit the cats.

Olivia is already undetachable from his side which is a relief. He loves cats. Even though Benjamin has yet to come around, Meredith is slowly beginning to allow Harry to play with her. Benjamin is still keeping his head high as if Harry is just a pain in his graceful butt which doesn't bother Harry at all. After all, he does have the undivided attention of his sisters.

Olivia meows at Benjamin but he hisses at her and points his tail upwards, walking away from the lot of them and going towards Taylor's room. Harry lets him—he probably misses her.

He isn't sure how long it takes until Meredith and Olivia both crawl into his lap and close their eyes, purring as if their lives depend on it. He smiles down at them, missing his own cat terribly.

After Dusty passed away, he refused to adopt any other pets claiming that he was not going to replace his beloved cat with anyone else but now, maybe it's time to get a cat again. He misses the feeling of an alive creature next to him.

He pats their heads slowly, his mind overthinking now that he has nothing to occupy himself with. His mind immediately wanders back to almost nine years ago, when they were in their early twenties.

Taylor was a friend of Harry's (his mum and her mum were friends from college days and when Taylor came to the UK for her college program, she stayed at their place for a while so they made friends) and Zayn was a friend of Taylor's so they inevitably met.

He isn't sure how it happened. It was like magic. One minute, they were strangers and the next they were lovers, tangled up in each other between the sheets. He isn't sure how he even managed to grab Zayn's attention.

And yet, Zayn asked Harry out. And yet, they fell in love. And yet, Harry was utterly happy—maybe the happiest he has ever been in his life—with Zayn. They were the couple goals, they were Romeo and Juliet (except they would be Romeo and Romeo... since, you know...), they were everyone's one true pair.

So what went wrong? Everything.

His thoughts, though, are soon interrupted as the phone rings and he reaches to answer it. The name that is revealed on the screen is; _Taylor Swift_. He rolls his eyes—he is still pissed off at her—but answers nonetheless.

"Yes?" he says grumpily, leaning so his back rests against the wall. He keeps his voice down so he won't disturb the two cats cuddling in his lap.

"Harry? Hey!" she exclaims. "How are you?" she adds, her tune embarrassed. _As she should be_.

"Was it your plan all along?" he spits the words out. "What did you think would happen? That I'd see him and fall for him all over again after _seven_ years? Are you nuts?"

"Wait, what? Do you think I did this _on purpose_?" Taylor hisses in the phone and Harry shrugs, not caring that she can't see him. "Oh my God, Haz! What do you think of me?"

"Hush now, Swift! You are not to get mad _at me_. I am mad at _you_ ," Harry whines like a small kid. He hears her giggle on the other side of the phone. "What?"

"You are like a kid, baby boy," she says and Harry rolls his eyes. "But seriously, H, it _wasn't_ my plan. I swear to God, I thought he'd arrive on New Year. He hadn't told me—okay maybe he had but I had forgotten—that he was going to arrive then!"

"Ugh," Harry growls, "Now what should I do, Tay?"

"Didn't you want to—"

"Have you listened to the news?" Harry interrupted her angrily. "It's snowing like _hell_. I can't set foot outside of your cursed house!"

"Oh," is all Taylor says and they sit there in an unnerving silence for a while. "Well, maybe it's a good accident, you know."

"Why would me, being stuck with my ex who _left_ me, be a good thing?" Harry hisses.

"Well, you two did break up on _very bad_ terms. Maybe you can use this time to actually _talk_ like two decent human beings and clear the air, you know," she sounds thoughtful and that makes Harry think as well. She is right—they did break up on awful terms and there is plenty of time to kill here.

"Well, maybe you are right..." Harry admits, mumbling. He has been carrying the bag of unresolved shit between them for seven years now. Maybe it's time to put it down. "Though I can't guarantee that we won't break anything of yours."

"Just keep the old vase out of it, break the rest," Taylor laughs. "Also, please do break the big old mug—it's Joe's grandma's." That makes them both laugh. "I'm sorry again, H," Taylor says after a while.

"It's okay, Tay. Talk to you later?"

"Sure, take care. Bye."

And like that, they hang up, leaving Harry alone again with his thoughts. He glances at the clock which is reading eleven-thirty and his brows shot up. It has been _one hour and a half_? And Zayn is still not out of the shower? All kinds of thoughts invade Harry's head; has he died? Has he slipped and hit his head somewhere? Has he masturbated so much he has passed away?

Okay, maybe not the last possibility.

As worry fills up his veins, he slowly rubs Meredith and Olivia's backs, pushing them out of his lap gently. They growl slightly but still stretch themselves out before going to join Benjamin in Taylor's room. Harry stands up, walking to the shower's door and knocks on it. "Zayn?"

It's the first time he has said his name, he realizes and it gives him chills but he ignores it nonetheless. There is no answer coming so he knocks more forcefully this time. "Zayn? Are you there? Zayn!"

Still, no answer and now, his nerves come off more forcefully than before. He is properly worried now, almost pounding on the door. His hands reach to the knob, in a hopeless attempt to turn it and to his surprise, the door isn't locked.

Zayn did have that habit, he recalls. He used to say it was because Harry was welcome to join him in the shower any time he wanted. It's probably a habit that has stayed with him over the years.

Harry tries to ignore his racing heart and the warning voice at the back of his head that tells him to back off and opens the door carefully. "Zayn?" he calls out and there's no response and finally the worry wins the battle and he walks further ahead.

And bloody fucking hell, there's a sight to see!

Zayn is lying naked (like _strike fucking naked_ ) in the bathtub, his head leaning on the back of the tub with his headphones on and his eyes closed. He looks like a god coming down to bless the mortals with his looks.

Harry can't help but leave his mouth open, inviting the mosquitoes to come in. He's lucky it's December and there are no bugs around so he probably won't choke to his death when a fucking bug gets stuck at the back of his throat.

But the point is, he is speechless and he can't seem to take his eyes off Zayn so he lets them hover over him.

He's added a few tattoos here and there, a full Mandala on his chest, two sunflowers to his neck, a few other things on his arms. The water is bubbly from the soap and thank God it is. He isn't sure if he could resist looking at Zayn's lower body if it was in his line of sight.

In the end, his eyes linger on his face—his beautiful, handsome, innocent face. His eyelashes are as long as ever, making look like a literal angel and his cheekbones are high as always. His face is at peace, his features calm as if they have no worries in the world.

He looks like an Ancient Egyptian Prince and Harry catches himself smiling at the man in front of him. Once again, he's twenty-one and in love—once again, he finds himself mesmerized by the immaculate beauty of Zayn Malik.

He isn't sure how long he has stared at Zayn until he moves slightly, waking up slowly. Harry feels fear creeping into his bones, jumping up and trying to get out of there as fast as he can but since the universe just _loves_ him, his foot slips on the slippy floor and he falls with a loud thud.

"Harry?" a husky voice acknowledges him and it only adds to Harry's pain. He presses his eyelids together, scrunching his nose up. Zayn's voice is deep and it has a sharp rasp to it, showing he has just woken up. "What are you doing here?"

Harry forces himself to turn to him (ouching on the way because what the fuck, it hurts like shit) and shakes his head, trying to put on a smile. "Um, I— I was worried because um, you took so long and I just, um, came to check up on you and when I wanted to go back, I kinda— I mean there's soapy water here and... um... I wasn't watching you, I—"

Well, he has fucked up, that much is obvious because Zayn has his smug face on and Harry feels himself blushing. It feels like a cheap teenage movie.

"I—" Harry opens his mouth to add something but no coherent word leaves his mouth. What can he say? There's no way to explain this. Zayn smirks, making a gesture of standing up which makes Harry close his eyes forcefully. "Bloody hell, stop!" he exclaims before he can help it and stand up, his eyes still closed. "Now that I'm sure you aren't dead, I'm just going to go!"

"Okay," Zayn says calmly and Harry tries to make his way out of the bathroom with his eyes shut forcefully. When he's finally out of there, he leans on the wall, placing his hand on his racing heart.

After the initial excitement of the situation is gone, he finally realizes that he needs to make something for them to eat. What did Zayn use to like? He can't recall so he decides to make Pasta so everyone would be able to eat it. Tomorrow, they'd have to figure out how to make turkey and mashed potatoes for Christmas... He should probably call his mother to ask her for help. Or maybe google it?

He spends his time thinking until he reaches the kitchen and wears an apron (which is Taylor's) and takes out his phone. Opening his Spotify, he browses his Christmas Playlist (named _Jolly Holly Christmas_ because _Holly Jolly Christmas_ is overrated) and presses play before washing his hands and getting ready to start cooking.

He isn't sure when he starts singing along to the songs and feeling his veins running with euphoria and genuine happiness. He can feel the spirit of Christmas in the air.

And then, he knows it—maybe this Christmas isn't going to go wrong.

———

Olivia purrs into Harry's hand, demanding his attention as Benjamin rests in Zayn's lap and Meredith plays with a ball on the floor. How does Benjamin even like Zayn? Why doesn't he like Harry but seems to be up Zayn's arse all the time? What? Harry isn't even good enough for the bloody cat?

He knows he sounds like a child nagging about everything but he can't help it when it comes to Zayn Malik.

As Harry wanders around his phone mindlessly, Zayn is sketching something with a frown that shows he's very focused on his job. Harry can't help but steal glances.

"Well, Harry," Zayn finally breaks the silence and to say Harry is shocked would be an understatement. They haven't exchanged more than a few words all day long so it's a surprise to hear his voice. Harry looks up and looks into his hazel eyes and rises and eyebrow. "Do you want to design the tree?" he asks.

Well, Harry certainly did _not_ expect that. Of course, why, tomorrow is Christmas and they don't have a tree but he hasn't thought of it. "We have a tree?"

"Well, Joe was supposed to have a tree when we arrived, this afternoon I went and checked it out and it's in the garage so I was wondering if you wanted to have a tree?"

Harry feels himself perking up. He thought he wouldn't be able to have a tree this year because of the failed plans and now Zayn was saying they could _have_ a Christmas tree. "Of course I want a tree!" he exclaims, not able to help the smile on his face as he lifts Olivia and puts her on the floor next to Meredith. Benjamin as well is soon on the floor since Zayn has stood up.

"Great," Zayn smiles and walks towards the back door. "Grab a coat, yeah? It's chilly outside."

"Roger that," Harry replies, grabbing his coat and following Zayn to the garage. Damned right it's cold—he feels like his arse is freezing.

In half an hour, they have gotten the tree and located it in the corner of the room, watching it proudly. "Okay, so Taylor must have a few designs somewhere around the house, yeah?" Zayn says thoughtfully.

"I can call her?" Harry offers. "To ask her if she has lights and stuff."

"No, the fun is to find it by ourselves!" Zayn exclaims with a scrunched up nose which makes Harry grin. "You know what, I know where she keeps her stuff. So how about you browse some Christmas song and we get to it? Your playlist earlier was pretty good!"

"You listened to that?" Harry feels himself blushing.

"Yeah, heard it while you were fixing the dishes," he shrugs but immediately a discomfort creeps under his skin. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I—"

"It's okay, b— Zayn," he says, nodding and taking his phone out before he gives himself time to blush. He almost called him babe... Guess people do fall back into old habits quite easily.

Zayn doesn't seem to have noticed and leaves the living room and leaves Harry alone with three curious cats to play his favourite songs. Olivia walks around the tree, observing it curiously. "It's good, innit, Olivia?" Meredith answers with a scoff. "Yeah, it needs designs, Meri but I'm sure it's better than not having one, right? What do you think Benji?" Benjamin opens his mouth as if to yawn and tell Harry he doesn't give a fuck. "Okay, grumpy."

"Hey," Zayn says softly before entering the room and Harry turns to see him with two boxes. "Taylor did tell me that she had brought this across the ocean. Figured she'd put them somewhere in the garage."

"Are you sure she'd want us snooping around her... things?" Harry feels a bit sceptical.

"I am," Zayn shrugs. "I have the right after she lived with me for seven years," Zayn clarifies and puts down the box and starts digging around it but Harry is taken aback by the statement.

"Lived together?" the words leave his mouth before he could stop them. He feels himself turning a shade of red.

"Yeah, like in a platonic way, you do remember I'm gay, right?" Zayn looks at him with a cocked eyebrow. "After we moved to New York together, we couldn't afford to have two places so we decided to share a flat," Zayn explains, looking a bit uncomfortable talking about NYC.

Harry smirks. Of course, Zayn has had a whole life he knows nothing about. But it's fine because _he_ has a whole life Zayn knows nothing about so he doesn't waste time obsessing over it and digging around the other box. "Woah, look at this glittery stuff," Harry exclaims and takes out a couple of golden stars.

Zayn smiles and nods. "They're siiiiick," he sticks his tongue out as he holds the lighting. "What about these?"

Harry nods, "Let's do it!" and grabs the lights and hands the stars to Zayn. The cats sit aside and watch the two adults doing the designs.

 _Bring me home_ by John Legend plays in the background as they swiftly get to work. "So, Zee,"—he realizes he has just called him by his nickname but it's too late to go back—"How is your family doing? I haven't seen Trisha and Yaser in ages." And by ages, he means since their break up. What did you expect? That he keeps tabs on his ex's family?

Zayn's expression alters drastically and the whistling he was doing stops and Harry frowns. Did he say something wrong? "You don't know, do you?" Harry shakes his head. He doesn't know what? I mean he does wonder why he isn't at his parent's and Taylor's but he figures he has a reason. "They passed away five years ago, a driving accident."

Harry gasps, taken back by surprise. He did not expect that. It takes a few seconds for him to earn back his voice and mutter, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"I know," Zayn simply says. "It was a long time ago."

"I would've come to the funeral if I knew," Harry says. "Taylor didn't tell me, you know. I really would be there for you if I knew." Which is not a lie. He would be there for him.

"She probably thought you, coming, would hurt both of us, you know," Zayn shrugged. "Considering everything."

"Yeah..." Harry nods, feeling the atmosphere getting heavier by the second so he decides to change it up a bit. Reaching for his phone, he plays _Last Christmas_ by Wham! and bumps his shoulder to Zayn's. "Let's dance."

Zayn cocks an eyebrow. "Dance?"

"C'mon, it's Christmas, let's do it!" he smiles at the raven-haired boy. "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart but the very next day you gave it away," he starts singing and swinging his hips like a mad man which makes Zayn laugh.

It has been seven years and yet it feels like nothing has changed. They can still fall into old habits as easy as that. "Come in, old man, move!" Harry encourages Zayn. Zayn laughs and moves along to the rhythms. It's not technically a song designed for dancing but it's enough to move one's hips ever slightly and they make the most of it.

What they don't know, though, is how they end up waltzing slowly to _Blue Christmas_ by Elvis Presley. But they do and they slowly swing to the song. Zayn's hand is on his hips as Harry holds his neck gently. They stare into each other's eyes and suddenly they are back to nine years ago, Christmas Eve and Harry knows that because he sees it in Zayn's eyes. He is as gone as Harry.

When the song ends, indicating that so has the playlist, they snap out of it, moving away from each other as if they weren't holding each other seconds ago. "The tree," Harry mumbles as Zayn nods and gets to the tree with a faint blush under his skin.

What were they thinking? Harry has no idea.

He just watches Zayn fixing their tree as he allows himself to wander back at the moment they shared. Zayn was so warm and so _alive_. He had almost forgotten how it was to be held by another.

"Well, done!" Zayn exclaims, standing aside and turning the lights on. "What do you think?"

"I think it's amazing," Harry smiles at him, feeling the awkwardness going away. After all, it _is_ Christmas and there's no place for awkwardness. "And I think we need fine wine to celebrate, what do you think?"

"I think I agree with you," Zayn says with a smile.

———

Thirty minutes later, they are sitting peacefully in the living room, Harry leaning back on the sofa as Zayn occupies the rocking chair with glasses of red wine in their hands. Maybe they should take Taylor's advice and clear the air, Harry thinks. After all, they are better off being in peace after so many years—after maturing.

"So how was America?" Harry starts, bringing the edge of the glass to his lips and swallowing the liquor. It's sweet and unlike last night's white wine, it doesn't burn his tonsils.

"Pretty good, I must admit," Zayn says with a smile, nursing his glass, caressing the delicate material with his palms. "We did a lot of painting, sold quite a few of them. Very desirable." Harry nods his head, not knowing what to say anymore. "What about you? Did the internship for the law company work out?"

"Yeah!" Harry says excitedly. Besides _love_ (which he loves), his job is the only thing that makes him perk up. "I'm a junior partner now. Might as well become a senior partner in a couple of years. Maybe a name-partner someday, who knows?"

"It's amazing, H," Zayn says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Harry is tempted to remark but he's got a feeling that he _knows_ why his demeanour is so closed. After all, they _did_ break up because of their jobs.

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry chuckles. "But let's talk about _love_. It's Christmas! Any significant others? Of course, _if_ you wanna talk about it."

"Nah, no one. Broke up with my last partner about four months ago," Zayn shrugs, not seeming to be greatly affected by the memory. Harry finds himself getting relieved by the idea. "What about you? You always fancied an epic love story, didn't you? Found your knight in shining armour? Or damsel in distress?"

"None, to be quite honest," Harry shrugs. He's used to not having a partner so it isn't bothering him greatly. "Found out that I don't have a good shot at _love_ so decided to give it up altogether."

"That's pessimistic," Zayn remarks. "A bad partner?"

"Worst ones," Harry jokes but his mind wanders to Zayn. Yes, he's had _partners_ after him but no one broke his heart as he did. He's not going to tell Zayn that though. "One cheated on me, I cut his balls off. I mistook one's cousin for her when I was drunk..."

"Bloody hell, you didn't!"

"It isn't my fault that they could go as twins! They looked _identical_!" Harry argues and they both laugh. It seems like ages ago.

"What else?"

"I don't know, one said he wasn't interested. One wanted me to marry them only after three months but I hadn't even fallen for them," Harry shrugs. Too many partners in the last twelve years of his actual dating love. "I genuinely thought I had a future with one, but eh, he left me and went to another country," Harry says, directly staring at Zayn's eyes.

His hazel gaze doesn't even try to look away so they stare at each other. Finally, Zayn breaks the silence. "I didn't leave _you_ , I left to become a better person—a successful person. I _wanted_ you to come with me."

"To New York?" Harry says bitterly. He isn't mad, not really but he certainly is bitter with the reminders of the past. It's inevitable, though, they should go through it and once they start, there's no going back. "I couldn't—I had a whole _life_ here in the UK. So did you but you chose to go."

"And I had a life in _New York_!" Zayn exclaims, his tune a bit loud but Harry doesn't mind. Not yet anyway. "I had a place _there_."

"I asked you to stay with me."

"I asked you to come with me!" Zayn says and for a couple of minutes, they stare at each other in silence, their hands clutching onto their drinks. "Harry, there's no point in bringing this up..." Zayn finally says with a sigh, getting out of his chair.

"Ha," Harry says scornfully. "It's exactly what you did seven years ago! You didn't _listen_. Now, you still aren't listening. Fine, run away—let this go down as another unresolved thing in your fucked up life." Harry has crossed the line but he can't help himself. He needs to get this out of the way.

"Seems like you have spent the last seven years obsessing over it," Zayn squints at him, spitting the words out.

"No," Harry's voice is firm. "But I used to get reminded of it every time something messy happened—I always thought about it when the world came crumbling down cause it's _one_ unresolved issue in my past. And I want to finally want to put it in bed."

Zayn holds his stare until he doesn't anymore, sighing and sits down. "Okay, fair enough. Go on."

"Why did we end it like that? Why couldn't we just do it _civilly_?" Harry says with a sigh. "I mean? After almost two and a half years, everyone expected our wedding invitation and we ended up _breaking up_ without hesitation? We just threw away everything?" Harry rubs the bridge of his nose, leaving the glass on the table next to his couch.

"I guess we did," Zayn says thoughtfully.

"Why though?" Harry is frustrated. He has worded the situation and it sounds even more idiotic. "I mean couldn't we just fucking talk?"

"I guess we were young..." Zayn seems uncertain. "Maybe we were just in love and we couldn't let go."

"But we _did_ let go. In the worst possible way!"

"Haz, what's the point of this?" Zayn uses the old nickname absent-mindedly. Harry flinches but he doesn't press on. "We did what we did—we can't change it."

"Zayn, we didn't even get a proper closure," Harry whines. "Am I the only one of us who spent time dwelling on this? Am I the only one who wonders what we could've been if we weren't idiots? Did you move on that easily?"

There it is—Harry has gotten it out; they didn't get closure. Harry has spent time dwelling on that. He has bared his heart out and now, he's scared of what he might hear.

"You are not the only one," Zayn breathes the words and he's so quiet that Harry suspects he misheard the raven-haired man. "I didn't move on like _that_. I mean, for fuck's sake, I was _in love_ with you. But I _did_ finally move on, didn't _you_?"

Harry takes a second to consider it. Has he moved on? Wouldn't he take Zayn back if he asked to? "I don't know," he finally admits.

"Harry we aren't the same people anymore," Zayn sighs. "I am not sure if you ever liked me, especially if you saw me as _present me_."

"I would love you either way," Harry says absent-mindedly and regrets it immediately. But the words are already out and there's no way he can take them back.

"You don't know that," Zayn pleads, looking at him with his Golden gaze.

"I guess you are right," Harry nods after a while. There's no point pressing the matter. "What about you? Would you like _me_ if you met me now?"

Zayn's gaze softens, a ghost of a smile on his face appearing and disappearing just as quick. He shrugs. "I don't know. Is it possible for anyone not to like you?"

"I don't know, ask my boss," Harry jokes but Zayn's words have marked his soul. _Is it possible not to like you?_ He forbids his mind to overthink it. He closes his eyes and reaches for his wine. They sit like that for a while, sipping from their drinks and answering the unanswered questions in their heads.

"Haz, I'm sorry for what I did," Zayn finally breaks the silence, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. Both their glasses are now empty. "I know _why_ I did it but the way I did it... it wasn't cool."

"I'm sorry, too," Harry shrugs. "I guess I acted like a proper drama queen back then, didn't I?"

Zayn doesn't answer, just laughs and Harry looks at him and smiles and he realizes, there's truly no hard feelings lingering in the air. Is this the closure they needed for the past? Just to say that they are sorry—that they were dickheads?

"So we did get that out of the way?" Zayn says and Harry isn't sure if that's a statement or a question.

Either way, Harry nods. "Yes, I think we did." And they both chuckle. It's not before Harry yawns that they both realize that they are sleepy. "It's late, innit? If we stay up late, Santa will miss our house."

Zayn lets out a laugh, chuckling. "Yeah, he sure will." He stands up, taking Harry's glass out of his hand and placing it on the cabinet next to his. "Well, by all means, go sleep, H."

"Well, you do realize my bed is the couch? You need to go to the guest room so I can turn the lights off and sleep."

"Non-sense," Zayn smirks. "If we sleep in the living room, we'll scare Santa away. Besides, I slept in the guest room last night, it's your turn this time."

"So I will scare Santa away but you won't?" Harry rolls his eyes mockingly and Zayn shrugs, teasingly.

"I am friends with Santa," Zayn whispers like he's letting Harry in on a secret and winks. Harry laughs, glancing at the cats who are sleeping soundly.

"Okay, then," Harry gives up. Who is he to say no to a good night's sleep on a warm bed? "Good night, Zee."

"Good night, Haz."

———

The sound of purring and Olivia and Meredith rubbing their heads to his sides wakes Harry up. "Oh, good morning, babies," Harry says with a smile and a husky voice. Olivia lets out an adorable meow rubbing her head to Harry's shoulder. He laughs and pats her head while trying to pull himself up on the bed. "It's Christmas," he says with a rasp since he has just woken up.

Meredith meows as if agreeing with Harry and Harry smiles. He feels rested after a long while. The wine they spilt last night was enough to make him sleep like a child. He suspects talking with Zayn had a little something to do with that as well.

Not that he will ever admit it.

Meredith jumps down the bed, her sensitive nose moving vibrantly. Harry takes a deep breath in as well, trying to see if there's a scent in the air and there definitely is. "What is that, girls?" He asks them but the cats look at him like he's crazy for talking to cats and run out of the room.

Harry chuckles, getting out of the bed and since it's a bit chilly, he puts a robe on over his PJs and slides on his slippers, walking out of the room. _Is that sausage?_ He wonders as the smell becomes stronger. No way Zayn is cooking! No way he is up earlier than Harry!

But apparently, the cosmetic loves to prove him wrong when he enters the living room and his stomach growls in hunger as soon as the warm smell of the meal feels his nose. He hums out of pleasure before looking around and then he sees _it._

A package under the Christmas tree!

It's packed in fluffy gift wrap. Harry gasps. He is sure it wasn't there last night. Did Zayn put it there? There's no other way it got there. Maybe he isn't meant to pry around but quite frankly, the curiosity gets the better of him and forces him to wander towards it, kneeling in front of it.

There's a note on it and Harry wouldn't read it except it has written _Harry_ on it in cursive—like Santa would write, he thinks—so he opens it.

_Merry Christmas, Haz,_  
_Yours Truly, Zayn_

As simple as that and yet Harry feels himself smile so wide his cheeks hurt. The excitement of Christmas morning takes control, his heart beating faster. What is awaiting him? What has _Santa_ brought him?

With the joy of a toddler, he opens—tears open to be quite frank—the gift and his breath is taken away when he sees the gift inside it. A portrait of Harry's face. He looks younger there, it's from the photo Zayn had taken on his twenty-second birthday.

He remembers the day vividly. He was so happy, so care-free.

His curls are in his eyes, his nose scrunched up and his eyes closed from laughing so hard. It brings tears—out of the joy of course—to his eyes. It's the sweetest gift he's ever gotten.

To be honest, he doesn't know how to feel about it. Did he give him this a token of their newly blossomed friendship? When did he even draw it? Did he mean anything more than friendship? He _did_ say he regretted breaking up with him last night, didn't he? But he said he had moved on as well... well, had Harry heard right or—

"You like it?" Zayn says from his back and Harry jumps up, grateful that he disturbed his overthinking mind. He is sure he would go mad if another question swirled in his head. "I wasn't sure if you would so... do you?"

"I love it."

"Good," Zayn says with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I drew it last night. I dug into my gallery and I found this picture there and... well, I thought you'd like a gift on Christmas morning so I kinda stayed up almost all night and drew it. Taylor had a spare picture frame in the boxes and I fixed it there."

Harry is taken off guard by surprise for two reasons: a) he hasn't said "as a token of friendship" yet. b) he had Harry's picture on his phone. He hasn't talked yet, his mouth swung open. He can swear he's going to cry. It's too much to take.

Two days ago, he thought he'd never see Zayn again and now, he has given him a portrait of him. He looks down at the gift again and smiles widely. It's Christmas's magic—he can feel it in his bones. He can feel himself getting wrapped up in love and all the good feelings in the world.

"Merry Christmas, Zayn," Harry says, looking at him. "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas, H," Zayn says, staring into his green eyes with a small smile which makes him look like an angel. Harry, then, feels it. It's a _moment._ He can feel their eyes melting into each other's, speaking the words that will probably go unsaid forever but Harry listens and he hears it.

He hears the whispers of an old lover, he hears the melody of a symphony, he hears water running and he feels his heart racing with excitement.

It's definitely a moment. That is, until Benjamin jumps up to Zayn, meowing harshly and they snap out of it. Harry can feel himself blushing as he looks down, kicking the living hell out of himself mentally.

"Oh, bloody hell, Benji is right," Zayn says. "Harry, how would you fancy sausages and eggs for breakfast?"

"What?" he's dazed, looking up. Zayn has _really_ cooked. That is new. He didn't know how to make an omelette to save his life when they were together. "You cooked?"

"Sure did."

"You know how to cook?"

"How do you think I survived seven years of living in America with no one around to feed me?"

Harry hums. "I just hope you won't get us killed with this."

"Oh, shut up," Zayn says as Harry stands up and they both walk to the kitchen. "You'll love it."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Zee," Harry says and they both laugh and unlike what Harry thought a couple of days ago, it's not the worst Christmas he's ever had.

It might as well be one of the best.

———

Harry has just gotten out of the shower, his head clear and peaceful. The weather inside is warm even though outside it's still snowing. Faint noises are coming from the kitchen, showing that Zayn is probably up to something and Harry is curious but he lets himself have a few more seconds before wandering into the kitchen to check up on Zayn.

It's peaceful and beautiful—it's _alive_ and it's merry. Just like Christmas.

After wearing his loose sweater and fixing his worn-out jeans which make him look like a careless frat boy, he goes out of the guest room and towards the kitchen. _All I want for Christmas is you_ is playing from the radio, Mariah Carey blessing his ears and he finds himself smiling.

He nears the kitchen just to see what Zayn is up to and that is when he's confronted with the perfect picture—one even better than the portrait Zayn drew of him.

Zayn is wearing an apron, Benjamin constantly around his legs, playing with him. "You think adding this is good?" Zayn asks the cats and he meows. "Yeah, me, too."

Harry doesn't dare disturb them by telling them that he's there so just stares, taking it all in.

Zayn softly sings under his breath, a glass of red wine on the counter next to him which he sips from quite frequently. His hands skillfully chop some onions and Harry allows himself to appreciate the beautiful hands, painted on by some black ink that stretches when he chops the vegetables. His shoulder muscles stretch and flex under his sweater and Harry can swear it's one of the most beautiful sights he has ever seen in his life.

He wonders, even if it's for a brief moment, what their lives would be like if they hadn't broken up? Would he wake up to Zayn cooking breakfast? Would the Christmases always be so lively? Would they sip wine together, pecking each other's lips sneakily? Would he see the sight of Zayn whistling every day?

There's a genuine curiosity accompanied by a bit of grief. Sorrow for the life they could've had. Sadness for the loss they had endured.

But he doesn't linger on it so much. He's there, Zayn's there and somehow he feels good about it. Somehow, he's at peace.

Benjamin is the first one who notices him, hissing at him quite angrily perhaps because he knows Harry will disturb the quality time he was having with Zayn—that jealous fuck.

"What is it, Benji?" Zayn asks before turning to face Harry and Harry can swear on his life that Zayn's eyes perk up at the sight of him. Somehow, that makes him feel proud. "Oh Hey Haz. How was the shower?"

What seems to be an innocent question makes Harry think of things he shouldn't and a faint blush makes its way under his skin. "It was... um, good, I guess," he mumbles. "What are you doing by the way?"

"Cooking, of course," Zayn says and turns back to stirring the stuff in the pan. "We need to have a Christmas meal, right?"

"You know how to make Christmas meals? Turkeys and all that?"

"How do you think I survived for seven Christmases in the States?"

"By eating junk food?"

"Oh, bugger off," Zayn says with a laugh. "I must admit, the first three years, we did end up eating junk food but after the fourth year it actually turned out to be good."

"I just hope we don't die," Harry sighs, standing next to Zayn and taking a breath. "It smells good, though."

"It does, doesn't it?" Zayn says with a proud smile. "It's my special recipe! I add things you haven't eaten in your entire life. I swear you're gonna love this, babe!" He exclaims excitedly, getting back to his work but Harry stands stone rigid as if he has been dumbfounded.

Zayn looks like he hasn't noticed but Harry has. _Babe_ , the word echoes in his head. It swirls and twirls and dances around his head like there is some party in his brain and he's unaware of it.

"Haz, are you okay?" Zayn asks.

"I—" Harry stammers, choking on his breath. "Yeah, I am," he finally manages to say.

Zayn is looking into his eyes, his brown eyes shining. His eyes—oh, lord... Harry used to love them so much. He used to stare into them for _hours_ and never get tired. He used to get lost inside of them as if they were telling a thousand stories all at once. "Did I do something?" Zayn's voice drags him out of the world of thoughts in his head.

"No," Harry smiles. "It's alright. Now can I taste this or should I wait until lunch?"

Zayn looks at him sceptically but he finally gives in. "Fuck it, okay have a taste and tell me what you think."

———

"I swear to god, the man was nuts. He stood stark _naked_ in the middle of open court," Harry says excitedly and Zayn laughs so hard he might choke on his breath. "And the judge was like, Mister Gerald, would you mind pulling your pants up? He was like, not until this jury gives me the verdict I please."

"Oh my fucking god," Zayn snarls, laughing so hard. "What then?"

"Nothing, the judge ordered they remove him from the stand and dismissed the case altogether. The poor man stayed in jail for a week or so," Harry shrugs, sipping from his drink.

Zayn breathes heavily from all the laughing but he manages to take a sip from the tonic they have been drinking. He is so close to getting drunk but he doesn't care. He's having a good time, he's doing better than he has ever been, he's laughing from the bottom of his heart.

"Oh, god, I haven't laughed this much in a long while," Zayn breathes the words, taking a few sips from his drink. "This is so good, innit?"

Harry breathes in, taking in some of Zayn's scent that's lingering in the air as well. "It is so good," he agrees. It is. His mind is at peace, feeling happy like he has never before.

His tummy is full of the yummy Christmas meal (which Zayn cooked; turns out he is a good cook which is a surprise), his head is weightless from the alcohol they have been sparing and the spirit of Christmas is there, making him feel _merry_.

So, feeling high on euphoria, Harry flips next to Zayn on the big couch, feeling very aware of their proximity. He's there, so close... and Harry is so drunk.

"I missed this..." Zayn says and the way he slurs the words shows Harry that he's gone as well. "I missed you..."

Harry chokes on his breath. If it was some Disney movies, _Baby please come home_ by ROZES would be playing as background music and Harry is lying if he says he isn't tempted to get up and play it and carry on the conversation.

But he doesn't. Instead, he looks at Zayn waiting for more.

"I am going to ruin _this_ , am I not?" Zayn says quite painfully, drawling the words as if he's hurting. "I'm going to ruin this new _friendship_ because I'm too selfish, right?" he's whining, almost as if he's desperate but he can't hold back.

"You can never be _just_ friends with someone you were in love with," Harry simply states. _Go on, Zayn,_ he mentally begs him. He doesn't know where all this is going but he's willing to go wherever if he has Zayn by his side.

His first love—to be fucking honest, his _only_ love.

"Haz, I missed you so much," Zayn slurs, finishing his drink and looking at Harry's green eyes. What time is it? Harry doesn't know. Is it past midnight? Mistakes usually happen after midnight and a part of his mind is warning him this very well might be a mistake.

"I missed you, too," Harry says the words—there it is. The mistake he anticipated. Zayn scoots closer to him, his eyes altering between his lips and his green, green eyes. "Fuck, I have been missing you every day for the past seven years. It's unfair..."

Tears are filling his eyes. It's not good—it's not what he wants to do. He wants to kiss Zayn but here he goes with tears that have gone unshed since their break up. "Why am I feeling like I wanna cry?" Harry sniffles. That's why he doesn't get drunk. For him, it either ends up in fucking until he can't walk or crying like a child. He doesn't like either yet here he is, only inches away from the person he used to be in love with—possibly is still in love with—and he is _fucking crying_.

Zayn looks at him softly. "What's wrong baby?" The words are airy, leaving his throat. He's gentle as his hand carcasses Harry's cheek. Harry leans into his touch immediately, rubbing his cheek to his palm as if he's a cat.

"I don't know," he admits. "Guess I just missed you so much."

Zayn's brown eyes are glassy as well, showing unshed tears that will probably never come down but Harry isn't Zayn—he doesn't hold back. That's why a trail of tears comes down his cheeks, wetting Zayn's hand as well.

"Shhh, baby," Zayn says, pulling Harry in, embracing him in his arms like he's going to protect him of everything that's about to come. Like he's going to be there through everything. Like the past seven years of departure were nothing but a nightmare—a bad dream they have woken up from.

They exchange no words from then on. They allow the gentlest touches to do the talking. They allow the rubbing of hands to tell each other how sorry they are for all the idiotic things they have done. They allow the young, shy resting of chin against shoulder to show each other how much they have missed each other.

Harry isn't sure how long they stay like that, entangled in each other and free of the boundaries of time and space—free of anything and everything but each other.

"I—" Zayn wants to say something but Harry places his index finger on his lips, refusing to let him go on. The silence of the night should not be disturbed. The words only undermine the feelings they are feeling at heart.

So instead of the words, he lets the lips do the job.

He presses his lips onto Zayn's, sweet and warm. He melts into the kiss—letting everything he has to fill the kiss, letting his love for the holiday and the man in front of him fill all the empty spaces.

And he's sure Santa is there, somewhere in the room, telling Harry that he did the right thing—he granted his wish. The wish he's had since he was fourteen-years-old, writing a letter to Santa in a small cottage in Holmes Chapel.

The wish to find love again.

———

**_ONE YEAR LATER_ **

———

Peace. 

The word many think know but Harry is sure a few have quite grasped the true meaning of it—peace is the promise of a warm embrace at the end of the day, the promise of happiness at the end of the road, the promise of love after a dark time. It's the promise of the arms of a man he is in love with.

It's the feeling of Christmas that lasts for the whole year.

He is woken up by a gentle kiss pressed to his temple and a whisper of the only person in the world that can give him goosebumps. "Haz?" the voice says and Harry feels himself wanting to disperse into Zayn—become one with him. "Wake up, baby," he says, pressing his lips to his ear, making Harry hide his face in his neck.

"I'm up, but keep doing what you're doing, I like it," Harry says with a goofy smile, his eyes barely open. He doesn't want the light of the morning to ruin his mood. It's dark and peaceful.

"I would," Zayn says with a husky voice, pressing his lips to Harry's neck and sucking off a bit before raising to peck his lips. "But it's late, we have a ton to do."

Harry rolls his eyes, growling as Zayn pulls himself up, placing a bit of distance between them. "Come back to bed, Zee," Harry whines. "I want us to cuddle." Zayn looks at his boyfriend sceptically before shaking his head in defeat and walking to him, flipping on the bed.

"Only a few more minutes, okay?" he says as he spoons Harry, pressing his chest to Harry's back. Harry hums in response before pressing himself more into his bare chest, trying to dissolve into Zayn.

But it doesn't take long before Olivia—Taylor's cat who refused to leave Harry alone so Taylor gave her to Harry for New Year last year—jumps between them so their small family is complete as they press into each other and stay there.

This is the promise of peace—the love, the calmness... all in another's arms.

———

"Is it good?" Zayn asks, fixing the star on the tip of their Christmas tree. Harry tilts his head, trying to catch a better angle.

"A little to left... yes, perfect, love!"

"Done then?" Zayn says with an exasperated sigh. Harry wouldn't blame him. He has spent quite some tip on the top of the chair with Harry bossing him around. Harry nods with a smile and Zayn climbs down the chair. "You know you are so sexy from the down view?"

"Yeah?" Zayn says with a smirk, pulling Harry in as he places his hand on his back. "Is it only then or am I still sexy when you look right into my eyes as well?"

"You are always sexy, baby..." Harry almost moans as he feels Zayn's warm breaths on his skin. "Always so _fucking_ sexy..."

A little over a year ago, he didn't know he was going to be in Zayn's arms again—he was going to kiss him, hug him and live with him. He didn't know he was going to come to the UK again, this time for good. A little over a year ago, he didn't know he was going to be _this_ happy.

But he is.

"I am, am I not?" Zayn growls into his neck, already pressing his lips to Harry's skin. "Too many clothes, not enough skin," he whines playfully. "Too much fucking clothes, I can't get enough of you."

"Then change it," Harry says, feeling himself getting turned on. His dick is already hard, stretching at his trousers.

And so, Zayn does. He claws onto his sweater, forcefully removing the fabric and thank the lord their flat is warm or else Harry would be shivering with his bare upper body. Zayn doesn't waste any time hanging onto Harry's zipper while Harry occupies himself with Zayn's shirt, opening the buttons one by one.

"Take it off, Haz," Zayn breathes into his body and who is Harry to say no? So he detaches their bodies for a second to kick his jeans off as Zayn unzips his trousers and throws them on the floor next to their other closings.

In the eliminating light of their living room, they stand there looking at each other, taking the detailed glorious bodies of their partners in. "You are so beautiful," Harry says, still taken back by wonder at the sight of this glorious man—even after more than years of dating.

"You haven't seen yourself then," Zayn says, not waiting for more talking before embracing into action.

Zayn closes the distance between them as he places his hand on Harry's waist and pulls him in for a kiss. Harry's hand travel to his messy raven hair and grips onto them as their mouths open up to allow their tongues tango in the space of their mouths,

The tongues dance in sync, pushing and pulling as Harry's hand moves deeper in his mop of hair and Zayn's hand goes further down to grab handfuls of Harry's arse. He lets out a moan into their kiss as Zayn pulls away and places wet kisses on his neck, coming down to his broad chest. Harry holds onto Zayn's hair, pulling on the curls. "Fuck," he moans.

Zayn removes his hand from his arse and allows himself to ridicule Harry's nipples, sending shivers all over Harry's body, getting him very vocal about what he wants. "Don't fuck around, Zayn," he hisses. "Just fuck me."

"With pleasure, baby," Zayn says and presses himself more into Harry. Harry can feel Zayn's erection pressed to his lower body and that makes him even harder than before. Their cocks are touching with nothing but thin fabrics of their underwear between them which Zayn removes quite soon.

They stand stark naked in front of each other for a second before Zayn goes on with pressing wet kisses on each of Harry's chest tattoos. "I love you," he muses and goes down. "Fuck, baby, you're so hard. So hard for me..."

Harry doesn't answer because the pleasure isn't allowing him to form coherent words, instead, he just forces his hands into Zayn's hair again, pulling on it. "Zayn," he moans with a shaky voice.

"Say my name louder baby," Zayn encourages him, his mouth doing wonders to Harry. His lips are pressed to his lower body, near his cock, his fingers ridiculing the tip of Harry's length. Harry moans when Zayn's gentle touch sends vibrations all over his body. "You like, yeah?"

Harry says nothing; just forces Zayn back up to press his lips to Zayn's. Zayn leans into the kiss hungrily, wanting more, wanting everything. They kiss for a while before Zayn slowly pushes him, until he is laying flat on the carpet. Harry's lips part to let out moans of pleasure. As Zayn pursues his mission to kiss him all over—on his stomach, his abs, his chest, his bare skin... Harry loves the feeling, Harry loves to be touched by Zayn. "I love you," Zayn growls into his body before his hand forcing Harry to flip so he's lying on his stomach.

Harry forces himself a bit upward, arching his back to get ready for Zayn to enter him. "Fuck me, baby," Harry begs, breathing shakingly. "Fuck me so hard, oh God..."

"You want me to fuck you?" Zayn says huskily and Harry nods rapidly, his erection becoming unbearable as his hands reach out to grip his length. Zayn, though, forces his hand away and he holds on to his hips. "Don't touch yourself, Haz..."

Zayn leans down and presses his lips on the right cheek of Harry's arse before standing up again and putting his fingers into his mouth so it's smothered by his saliva and pushes the index and middle finger into Harry's hole, making his moan as he moves his fingers.

"Fuck, babe, open up for me," Zayn orders and Harry arches his back, stretching his body. After Zayn feels satisfied with prepping him up, his hands fixing Harry's position, holding his hips firm in his place.

No condom, no lube; only his fingers to ease the pain and the teasing of his cock against Harry's arse to get him all opened up but they don't care. Zayn teases Harry's arse hole with the tip of dick before entering slowly at first and then all at once. Harry hisses at the warming pain that's spread through his lower back. Zayn moves slowly carefully so Harry will get used to him.

"Move faster, fuck," Harry growls as the pain disappears, giving him pleasure, now wanting it all. Zayn grins, pulling in and out and thrusting into Harry more forcefully than the first time. There are no more words exchanged between them, only their moaning filling the silence of the place.

"I'm going to cum," Harry whines. "Fuck babe, I'm so close." His hands weekly reach to his length to relieve himself but Zayn shoos his hand away, reaching for Harry's length himself as he pulls out.

Seconds later two pops show that the pressure has been relieved, the two men have reached their orgasm. Harry's knees give away, plopping on the floor as Zayn's hands can't hold him up anymore and he plummets next to Harry on the floor. "Fuck, baby, I love you," Zayn says, kissing Harry carelessly.

Harry melts into the kiss. "I love you, too." and fuck him is this isn't the best pre-Christmas sex he's ever had.

———

Christmas day arrives, Harry feeling his heart racing with excitement as he gets out of the bed in the morning, looking for Zayn. Apparently, he's up earlier than Harry since he's nowhere in their room so Harry puts on his robe, getting out of the room and marching towards the living room with excitement.

Last night they had placed their gifts to each other under the Christmas tree so there are a few packed gifts under the tree—from their friends and families and themselves—and Harry can't wait to open them. "Zee?" he calls out, already sitting next to the tree with his legs folded under him.

"Here, baby," Zayn appears a second later, taking off the apron he was wearing. "Was making breakfast," he explains before leaning and pecking Harry's lips. "Wanna open the presents now, huh?"

"Fuck yeah," Harry says with the excitement as he claps his hands. They decide to open other gifts before their own so they can save the best of the best for the end.

Harry's mother has sent Harry a cardigan whilst Zayn has received a green—Harry's eyes green—sweater from her which he immediately puts on with the excitement of a toddler. Taylor has sent them two mugs from New York since she and Joe moved back to America for the time being with a card postal which makes them giggle. Gemma has sent Harry a brand new hard disk for he was running out of the footage and a couple of professional pens for Zayn for his drawings. Their friends have sent them a couple of cards, congratulating them for Christmas and at last, they are down to two boxes.

Harry's gift is a bigger box whilst Zayn's is no bigger than a tiny box which makes Harry roll his eyes. Zayn goes first, Harry looking at him with anticipation to see how he will like his gift. It's a handmade sculpture of Icarus—since Zayn is obsessed with Greek culture—that Harry bought when he was in Greek for a business deal he was there to do.

Zayn gasps when he sees the sculpture, his fingertips tracing the details of the face of Icarus as if it's made of Diamond. When he doesn't say anything, Harry starts chewing on his lips. "You like it?"

"Are you kidding me?" Zayn finally tears his heart away from the handsome face of the Greek myth and looks at Harry with the biggest grin ever. "I love it, baby. It's the best gift I've ever received in my entire life."

"Yeah?" Harry asks with a dimple-showing smile before pulling Zayn in and pecking his lips.

"Yeah," Zayn replies, smiling into the kiss before pulling away and placing the sculpture inside the box carefully and putting it aside. "Your turn," he says, visibly tensed up. Harry frowns, looking at the box.

"Baby, I'll love it, okay?" Harry pats Zayn on the knee when he sees his boyfriend chewing his nails nervously. "Why are you so anxious?"

"Shut up and open the box," Zayn says, half-joking, half-serious. "But if you didn't like what you saw, please don't snap, okay? And don't walk away and—"

"I won't," Harry interrupts him. What on earth is in that box that has made Zayn so nervous? "Okay, let's see," he says with genuine curiosity before unwrapping the box as carefully as he can and then opening it only to be faced with an empty jewelry box—to be precise an empty ring box.

He looks up with a frown, not knowing what it means but when he does, he is faced with a very nervous Zayn who is on his knees with a silver ring in his hands.

Harry feels his heart missing a beat as time freezes and he can do nothing but look at Zayn with a half-open mouth. He can't get himself to utter a word so he just waits, his mind not functioning.

"Harry," Zayn starts, clearing his voice. "Fuck I had a whole speech memorized and now I'm so nervous that I can't even recall a word of it." Harry's eyes are filled with tears of excitement but he manages to let out a chuckle with Zayn. "Okay, fuck speeches I'm just going to go out and say it.

"You have known me for more than a decade now, since we were young adults messing around, to young men in love, to bitter youngsters and now to two grown men... it has been a hell of a journey and even though not all have been happy, I am certain I can't remember a moment in my life better than the time that was spent with you...

"You have been the muse to my art, the inspiration in my head, the melody of my days... without you, I don't know if I could survive returning to England but you were there and... better than ever, baby. You light up my world and you make me want to be a better person. You make me feel things I thought I could never feel.

"I thought I was in love with you way back when we first dated but that feeling is nothing compared to what I am feeling for you now, and every day since I saw you again. Every day, this feeling is becoming stronger and stronger and it's taking control of all I am and all I've ever known... I don't want to be parted from you from this moment on—I don't want to take a breath if it's not by your side...

"Harry Edward Styles will you accept my hand in marriage and become my husband?" Zayn finishes his response with this sentence and Harry feels his heart faltering, not able to make an audible sound.

 _He asked me to marry him, he asked me to marry him, he asked me to marry him_ ; these words are being repeated in his head over and over again and before he knows it, tears are streaming down his face.

He wanted this—he fucking wanted this since he laid his eyes on Zayn fucking Malik.

Then why can't he say a word?

Zayn is visibly tensed, swallowing his saliva anxiously. "Harry?" he calls out after Harry stays still and silent like a dead stone for another two minutes. He folds his limbs under him, his hands reaching out to Harry's shaking ones. "Say something, baby."

But Harry can't, he's too happy to be able to form words. So instead he kisses Zayn as tears are streaming down his face.

"Woah," Zayn says with a smile as they part. "That was—"

"Yes," Harry finally finds his voice. "For you a million times yes." He laughs—Zayn laughs and then Harry hugs him so tight. So tight showing that he isn't ever gonna let him go. So tight to show that he's still the one—he's always been the one.

"I love you," Zayn mutters into his ears as he wraps his arms around Harry. "I love you so much."

"I love you, Zee," Harry mutters as he rests his chin on Zayn's shoulder and closes his eyes, taking his scent in.

The spirit of Christmas is there—alive and observing and smiling at Harry kindly. _Thanks, Santa_ , he thinks. _Thanks for granting my biggest wish_.

This is the meaning of peace.

Eternity.

Love.

This is Christmas!


End file.
